The Rogue You Know (Covent Garden Cubs) (4 page)

Had the thief stolen it?

Of course he had. And now she’d stolen it from him. What would she do with it? She couldn’t keep it. She might go to gaol for theft.

She’d hide it. She’d do them both a favor if she hid it. She would return it to the thief when he’d fulfilled his part of their bargain. All she required was escort to Vauxhall. It was foolish to think that anything there might give her some clue about her mother’s past, but neither could she discount her mother’s stern objection to her going. What didn’t her mother want Susanna to see?

Thugs? Ruffians? Undesirables?

Well, Susanna had dealt with one of those downstairs, and she’d held her own. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down though. Marlowe’s friend was the most terrifying man she’d ever met. He made no secret of the fact that he was not a gentleman. His language was deplorable, and he’d tried to reach down her bodice!

Which reminded her of the need to change her clothing. She peered about her bedroom and decided to secret the little jewelry bag in her dressing table, in the same box where she kept her own jewels. No one would have reason to look there, as she didn’t have anything of real value.

When that was done, she struggled out of her gown. She would have called her maid, but Maggie would ask questions. Susanna did not want to have to explain or make up a lie.

When she’d finally stripped to her underthings, she pawed through her gowns. She wanted to wear something that made her look older and more sophisticated. She felt like a green girl around the thief. She’d always thought she’d find men like him disgusting. Their manners were coarse and their bathing habits infrequent, but this Gideon was rather handsome, except for the wicked scar slicing his temple and eyebrow. She’d managed a good look at it when he was near the light. She might have touched it then if she hadn’t been surprised by his pleasant scent—sandalwood and the night air and…

Freedom.

Maybe his eyes were what drew her. She’d never known anyone with such beautiful green eyes. She’d looked at his eyes and thought of emerald valleys and verdant woods. Could a truly evil man have eyes that beautiful?

She’d be safe with him. They’d go to Vauxhall Gardens tonight, and she’d be home in the morning. Her mother would never know her daughter had been away.

Susanna chose a deep pink gown to wear. She didn’t have red. Her mother would not allow her so much as a russet gown, so this vibrant shade of pink was the most audacious she could manage. The neckline was modest for a ball gown, but the back plunged, which always made her feel daring. She was out of breath by the time she’d pinned all the fabric into place and pulled on her long, white gloves.

This dressing oneself was exhausting. She glanced at the clock. It had taken her almost a half hour. Gideon was probably furious.

Susanna grasped the candlestick again and hurried from her room, tiptoeing past her mother’s chamber and down the stairs. She opened the door to the library soundlessly and closed it behind her. That was when she heard the growling. She turned and gasped at the sight of Gideon on the rug with a large brownish-black dog standing over him.

“What is this?”

The dog watched her, baring his teeth and deepening his growl. Susanna pushed her hands onto her hips. “Stop that.”

The dog whimpered and quieted. She cut a look at the thief. Even his dog had bad manners.

“Why are you lying on the floor? This is no time for playing.”

“I’m not playing,” he said, his voice sounding tense and strained.

The dog growled again, and Gideon went silent.

“You should teach your dog some manners.”

He muttered something, but she couldn’t hear him over the dog’s growling. “Sit,” she ordered the dog. “Hush.”

Obediently, it sat and stopped its noise.

“How are you doing that?” the thief asked, backing away from the dog.

“Doing what?”

“Controlling that dog. If you hadn’t come in when you did, it would have ripped my throat out.” He moved to stand beside her, keeping his distance from the animal.

Susanna cringed at the image that statement produced in her mind. “Then this isn’t your dog?”

“
No
, I already told you that. It started chasing me tonight and must have followed me here. It doesn’t like me.”

He sounded so hurt, so genuinely shocked, that she almost laughed. She would have laughed if it hadn’t occurred to her that a strange dog was sitting just a few feet away from her. She’d always wanted a dog, but her mother had refused to allow her even that much companionship. Perhaps this was her chance to have the pet she’d always wanted.

“It’s probably hungry,” she said, moving closer to the animal.

Gideon grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. “Don’t get too close.”

“It won’t hurt me,” she said, shrugging his hand off, although his skin was surprisingly warm. “Will you, puppy?” she asked. “Good puppy. Sweet dog.”

The dog thumped its tail.

“We should find it something to eat.”

“We should find a pistol and shoot it.”

She gave him a shocked look. “Do not be ridiculous. I would not kill a dog.”

“Yes,
I’m
the daft one here.”

She sidled closer to the animal and held out her hand for it to smell. The dog sniffed and then licked her hand. Susanna laughed and patted the dog’s head. The dog leaned into her touch, practically knocking her back in its enthusiasm.

“What a good dog you are,” she said, scratching behind its ears. It really was filthy. Her gloved hand came away lightly dusted with grime. “I don’t have time to fetch you anything to eat now, but we’ll get you something soon.”

“We’re not taking that thing with us,” Gideon protested.

“Well, we can’t leave it here.” She peered down, glancing at the dog’s underside. Her cheeks flushed a bit pink, but she had wanted to know. “I mean to say, we can’t leave
her
here. Do you think she has a name?”

“Fuck me,” he muttered. “Now she’ll name it.”

Susanna’s cheeks heated, and she pretended she hadn’t heard his foul words. She scratched the dog under her chin. “How about Beauty?”

The dog cocked its head to the side, indicating either she liked the petting or she liked the name. Susanna chose to believe the latter. “You like that, do you? Then Beauty it is.”

“What did I do to deserve this?” Gideon muttered.

Susanna gave him an arch look over her shoulder. “I’m sure you have committed all sorts of unpardonable sins, not the least of which was stealing that necklace.”

“
You
took
it
out
of
the
bag?
”

“Yes.” She nodded briskly. “And I hid it. You’ll never find it, and I won’t give it back until you take me to Vauxhall Gardens and return me safely.”

He squinted at her. “It’s in your jewelry box, isn’t it?”

“Stop doing that!”

“You can’t leave it here. Someone might find it.”

“Nonsense. It’s perfectly hidden in…in its hiding spot.”

He pointed a threatening finger at her. Beauty growled again, and Gideon held up his hand.

“I’m not going without the necklace.”

“Why not? So you can steal it back and leave me to fend for myself?”

He had the gall to look astonished and offended, but his response was just a moment too late.

“Leave you? I would never—”

“I don’t believe you, and I certainly don’t trust you.”

He spread his arms wide. “I understand completely. Clearly, I’m not the best person to take you to Vauxhall. Give me the necklace, and we’ll go our separate ways. You can even keep the dog. In fact, I insist you keep it.”

“
Her
, and we will not go our separate ways. If you want that necklace back, you’d better take me to Vauxhall Gardens.”

Beauty yipped her agreement.

Susanna glanced at the door and then at the open window. She could hardly lead a man, a dog, and herself out of the house undetected. Surely a footman was about and would inquire as to her actions. Hopefully, none of the servants had heard the barking or, if they had, assumed it wasn’t coming from inside the house.

She started for the window, and Beauty followed. “We’ll have to go this way,” she said. She’d never climbed out of a window before, but it seemed the only recourse. She peered down at the ground. It wasn’t far. They were already situated on the ground floor.

“I really think we should discuss this.”

Susanna felt the sultry breeze in her hair and wondered if she did indeed need her wrap. Of course, the weather might change in an instant. She might have been better served by wearing her pelisse, but it was too late to go back and fetch it now. “You go first,” she told Gideon.

“And if I insist ladies go first?”

She lifted the candlestick and caught sight of the dog. “Beauty wouldn’t like that.”

He didn’t look worried she’d hit him with the candlestick again, but he clearly didn’t want the dog to attack—she could see that much in the glare he tossed her before marching to the window and climbing nimbly through. She tried to observe how he accomplished the task, but he moved too quickly. She was left staring down at him and then trying to figure out how to get the candlestick and herself through the window. When she’d turned this way and that, Gideon sighed and said, “Tonight, Strawberry.”

She stiffened. Had that been a reference to her hair color? “What did you call me?”

“Put one leg through and then the other.”

“But you’ll see my ankle.”

He flashed her a grin. “Your calf too, I hope.”

“A gentleman would never look.”

“Too bad I’m not a gentleman.”

Leaving the candlestick balanced on the sill, she moved sideways and awkwardly lifted one leg over the casement. Her dress rode up her leg, but she tried to pretend he wasn’t looking at her exposed flesh. She held onto the casement and then wondered how she was supposed to pull the other leg over without falling. She lifted her foot from the floor, but then she wobbled, and she had to clutch the window even tighter with her hands.

“You won’t fall,” he told her, sounding bored. “Swing your leg over and jump down. This would be much easier if you weren’t wearing that ridiculous dress.”

She couldn’t move. It was mortifying, really, because she was such a coward. “I…”

“Do it.”

“I can’t!”

“Then give me the necklace and stay here.”

“No.” She straightened her shoulders as much as possible in the uncomfortable position.

“You said yourself that you can’t do it. This is nothing compared to the rest of the night.”

She didn’t know what he meant by that, and she didn’t want to know.

“You can’t do it. You can’t—”

In one swift motion, she swung her leg over and hopped down. She might have fallen forward, but he caught her in his arms. She fell against his chest—his broad, muscled chest. She inhaled sharply and looked up and into his face.

“Well done, Strawberry.”

He set her down. Her legs trembled, and her breath hitched in and out. She wasn’t certain what panicked her more—jumping out the window or being held by Gideon.

A yip sounded, and Beauty jumped neatly beside her.

Susanna patted her, grateful for the reason to keep her flushed face down. “Good job.”

“Let’s go, Strawberry!” Gideon called.

She grabbed the candlestick from the sill, and with a last look back at the darkened windows of her home, she followed him into the even darker night.

Gideon took hold of one of her wrists and hauled her away from the town house. He kept to the shadows, moving quickly. Beezle’s cronies could be anywhere, even in Mayfair. They’d cut across St. James’s and reach Vauxhall by way of ferry. Not as direct a route as taking the new Vauxhall Bridge, but he had an aversion to Tothill Fields. The country made him nervous.

“Ouch!”

Strawberry stumbled, and he had to slow. Again. The gentry mort wore a silky, pink ball gown and long, white gloves. Where the hell did she think she was going?

Her pretty little pink slippers had peeked from her skirts when she’d climbed out the window. Those were the problem. Footwear not meant to be walked in. What the devil would these nobs think of next?

They’d made it as far as Berkeley Square, which was to say they’d gotten nowhere at all. But Strawberry pulled her wrist free and grabbed hold of a tree, steadying herself. She lifted her foot, presumably to feel the bottom of her slipper. The dog was still following them and found another tree to do its business.

Gideon kept watch on the street and park impatiently. By nob standards, the night was far from over. Carriages with bright lamps and glittering gilt paint on the doors clattered past them. He’d yet to spot anyone else on foot. Not everyone out tonight wanted to be seen.

“How much farther to your conveyance?” she asked.

“What?”

Her head jerked up. No way could she see anything in the dark, but she had her left foot raised for inspection. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it is rude to answer
what
? The correct phrase is either
pardon
or
excuse
me
.”

She was serious. She thought she could stand there and lecture him on asking for
pardons
and prattle on about
conveyances
.

He pinned her to the tree with a hand on her shoulder. She staggered, regained her balance, then gasped with fear. He could move quickly when he needed.

The buffer growled, and Gideon growled back.

“Listen, Strawberry.” He bent close to her pretty face and those large brown eyes. “I don’t give a damn about your rules. I’m in this for the goddamn necklace, not your lessons on…deportment.”

Her body flinched in surprise. He had a few surprises left.

“Your language is deplorable. I must assume since you know words like
deportment
, you use profanities intentionally.”

“Assume whatever the hell you want.”

She made a sound of complete and utter disgust. He knew the feeling. “Take me to the conveyance. I want this night over forthwith.”

God save him.

“I don’t
forthwith
have a conveyance.”

“What?”

He smirked. “You mean
pardon
?”

Her lips thinned. “Surely you have a dray of some sort.”

“No.”

“A pony cart?”

Silence was answer enough. A breeze wafted past them, and the scent of something sweet and feminine tickled his nose.

Her.

Their bodies were close, his arms trapping her within reach. His fingers itched to touch the swath of pale shoulder revealed when the flimsy garment she clutched around her slipped. He’d never touched a woman like her, all clean and pale and sweet-smelling.

“If you have no conveyance of any sort, how do you propose we travel to Vauxhall Gardens?”

“I didn’t propose we travel anywhere.”

“Semantics.” She ducked under his arm and moved away. The dog was immediately at her side. Gideon felt the loss of her heat and scent keenly, and propped his shoulder on the tree lest he yank her back.

She patted the dog’s head. “We will have to engage a hack to take us to…or how does one reach Vauxhall Gardens?”

“By bridge or ferry. Since we don’t have a rattler, we go by ferry. They can be hired at either Whitehall or Westminster Stairs.”

She began walking—in the wrong direction. After a half-dozen steps, she realized he wasn’t following her. “Come on then.”

“Where are you going? The river is that way.” He jerked his head south.

A look of chagrin passed over her face. “The hackney driver will know where it is.” She pointed along a dark street. “We should be able to engage one at Old Bond Street.”

“How much blunt you got?”

Her brows came together. “Blunt?”

“Chink.” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Yellow boys. Shillings.”

“None.” Her fingers curled into the dog’s matted fur.

“Of course you don’t.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered closer to her. “You’ve probably
never
paid for anything yourself.”

“That’s not true.” She ducked her head, pretending to look at the dog. If Gideon taught her nothing else, he would teach her how to lie convincingly.

“I have a secret.” He leaned close, whispered the words beside her ear.

Her shoulder came up protectively, and she gave him a sideways look, her lashes lowered.

“I don’t have any blunt either.”

That wasn’t true. He had a few shillings, enough to pay for a boat to Vauxhall, but not enough to pay for a hack, a boat,
and
the entry ticket.

Not that he planned to buy a ticket.

Her head jerked up, and the dog gave a warning bark. “What will we do? We need money.”

He shrugged his shoulders, dug his hands deeper into his pockets. “I know somewhere we might find a diamond necklace. I could fence that. We’d have more blunt than we need.”

And he’d be rid of her.

“No.”

He gazed off into the distance, pretending to think. He’d give her time to realize his way was the only way.

“We’ll have to walk then.” He made a point of looking down at her hem. The pink material was ornamented by lace and fabric flowers. It was the most impractical gown he’d ever seen.

And he wanted to touch it, touch her warm skin underneath it—more than he cared to admit.

“I can’t walk.” She was nothing if not predictable. “My slippers already have a hole.”

“Nothing for it then.” He grasped her wrist, ignoring the dog’s growl. “We fetch the necklace.”

He didn’t know how she managed to dig her slippery heels in, but she did. He couldn’t tug harder without hurting her or without the buffer attacking. He rounded on her. “This was your plan, Strawberry. How did you expect to make it to Vauxhall Gardens without blunt or shoes?”

She didn’t answer, but her eyes burned into him. “I’m going. With or without you.”

She gave him her back and walked away. Actually, she hobbled. A rock must have dug into her foot. It was probably as new and uncallused as a baby’s skin. He let her walk a half-dozen steps, gave her time to think it through, but when he expected her to turn back, she kept hobbling.

Foolish mort would be dead within the hour if she went alone.

He shrugged. That wasn’t his problem.
She
wasn’t his problem. He was a housebreaker. He could go back to the town house, crack it, and steal his necklace back. That was exactly what he should do.

But damn it if he could manage to walk away from her. It was like steering a toddling child into the middle of Piccadilly Street. And then there was Marlowe. Strawberry was Marlowe’s relation now. Gideon had few he called friends, and even fewer friends he actually
liked
. Marlowe was one of those.

Strawberry was Marlowe’s, and that made her his by default.

Damn.

He caught up to her in four long strides. She gave him that sidelong look again and continued walking. He looked straight ahead, slowing his pace to match hers.

“We need shoes or blunt or both,” he said.

“You needn’t trouble yourself about my slippers. I will make do.”

He laughed. Now the princess pretended she wasn’t pampered and spoiled. Let her do so when his neck wasn’t in the noose.

“I don’t think so. You’re already limping, and I’m not about to carry you across London. Even if I could manage that, we’ll have to pay passage on a boat and for entry to Vauxhall.” He might manage to sneak into the pleasure gardens, but he wouldn’t make it across the river without paying. He had no desire to go for a swim in the murky water of the Thames.

But perhaps he need never make it as far as the river.

“I won’t go home. Not yet.”

Not until she was good and frightened. Then she’d race him home and throw the necklace at his feet.

“Then we have no choice. Find me a bubble.”

She halted. “I beg your pardon.”

“That’s what we call the swell whose pocket we’ll pick.”

Her face reddened with a mixture of shock and horror. “I will not be a party to theft!”

He folded his arms tightly over his chest. “You stole my necklace.”

“It’s not your—that’s not the point! I won’t stoop to thievery.”

He let those words sink in until her face reddened further.

“I mean…I didn’t intend to insult you.” She tugged at her wrap, pulling it like a shield around her.

“We can’t go back to your town house for blunt, and we can’t do the trick. Do I have that about right, princess?”

“I’m not a princess.”

Right. And he wasn’t a thief.

“You will simply have to find another way to obtain the funds we need.” She sniffed.

Of course he would because Princess Strawberry wasn’t about to dirty her fingers. He’d been counting on it.

“There’s one last option.”

The hands fidgeting with the fringe on her wrap stilled, and she gave him her full attention. Easier to hook than a hungry fish. Or so he thought. He’d never been fishing. An oversight he planned to rectify when he was finally away from London and free from the life of Gideon Harrow.

“We see a crony of mine.”

She pulled the wrap to cover her throat. “What sort of…of crony?”

“The sort who can help a man out when he needs shoes and blunt.”

“Can we trust him?”

Of course they couldn’t trust him. Gideon didn’t trust anyone. Strawberry, on the other hand, was far too trusting. Else she wouldn’t be away from her cozy, safe home with him.

“Trust him?” Gideon spread his arms. “I’d trust him with my life.”

The dog woofed, and Gideon gave it a quelling look. Strawberry glanced at her too. “You’ll keep us safe, won’t you, Beauty?”

The dog wagged its tail.

“Shall we?” He made the sweeping bow he’d seen the rum dukes do a time or two. “This way, madam.”

She followed like a little lamb.

The buffer whined but stood rooted in place. “Come, Beauty!” Strawberry called.

With a last plaintive whine, the dog followed.

* * *

Walking the streets of London at night was a vastly different experience from flying along them in a coach and four. For one thing, the city stank. Unwashed bodies, refuse, horse manure, and the stagnant heat of summer combined to make her gag.

The thief laughed at her when she covered her nose with her silk, lavender-scented handkerchief.

“You think this is bad? Just you wait, Strawberry.”

His words filled her with a mixture of dread and excitement. The dread she understood. The dread was the emotion she ought to feel. The excitement was all wrong. Her mother would have been appalled—which only made Susanna want to revel in the adventure even more.

She’d never have a chance at another adventure like this again. Soon she’d be leg-shackled to some stuffy gentleman or elderly lord. She’d spend her days embroidering and receiving callers who wanted to chat about the weather or the latest fashions.

Susanna enjoyed fashion and weather as much as anyone, but there must be more to life. The years stretched before her like an infinite carpet with an unvarying pattern. This foray into disobedience and risk began and ended her life.

Surprising how much she was enjoying this. The handsome rogue was not at all what she’d expected when she’d heard Marlowe speak of her life in Seven Dials. Oh, he was vulgar and ill-mannered, but those eyes and that chest…

When he’d pinned her to the tree, she hadn’t been able to take a deep breath, partly out of fear and partly because he’d stood so close. He’d
touched
her. Without permission.

The crowds about her thickened, and she clutched her wrap tightly, brandishing her candlestick.

“Where are we?” she asked, grateful for the thief on one side and Beauty on the other. Hard-eyed women and thin children watched her from dirty doorways. Rambunctious men turned to gawk and whistle when she passed. The thief had been right about the gown. She should have worn a sack.

“You never been to St. Giles?” he asked. “Little rookery just on the east side of Mayfair, and I warrant this is the first you’ve seen of your neighbors.”

“Are you certain it’s safe to be here?”

“Safe? No. And if you keep waving that silk wipe in front of your nose, someone will snatch it and might decide to take you with it.”

She shoved the handkerchief back into her glove. The fingers of the once-pristine gloves were black from the dog and whatever else she’d touched. Apparently, there was a market for handkerchiefs, so she’d better keep her gloves close to her as well.

“This is it,” the thief said, stopping abruptly in front of a battered wooden door covered with pamphlets and advertisements for miracle tonics. The owner must not have cared enough to remove them. The thief rapped on the door then glanced back at her over his shoulder. A fire burned nearby, encircled by a group of men who roasted meat on the flame. In the red glow, the thief’s scar looked painfully angry. His eyes glittered like a cat’s.

“Let me talk,” he said.

She nodded, wrapping her fingers in the warm fur at the dog’s neck. Her throat was dry, and her feet throbbed. The thin slipper soles hadn’t protected her tender heels or arches from sharp stones. The slippers had been a miscalculation.

She looked at the thief. Perhaps he’d been a miscalculation as well.

The door creaked open, and one pale blue eye blinked at them.

“Gideon Harrow looking for Mr. Stryker.”

Gideon
. A Biblical name. Had his parents—he
did
have parents, didn’t he?—been devout Christians? Methodists, perhaps. Her own mother attended church only when compelled and spoke of Methodists as though they were the devil incarnate.